


don't you know, the way you make me feel?

by zhennie



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rock Band, M/M, Pre-Slash, Songwriting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26726119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhennie/pseuds/zhennie
Summary: Settsu Banri is everything Juza has never been. A charismatic presence, lead singer material from the start. A cocky grin and a perfectly-timed wink when the stage cameras focus on him. A voice so clear and strong that the first time Juza had heard it, before he’d known anything about the man behind it, he’d filled a page and a half with the melody and lyrics that would become Aki’s first single,Picturesque.
Relationships: Hyoudou Juuza & Settsu Banri, Hyoudou Juuza/Settsu Banri
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	don't you know, the way you make me feel?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spokl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spokl/gifts).



All Hyodo Juza has ever wanted is to make music. 

It’s a dream he’s chased desperately, with both hands outstretched in front of him as he begs, _please, just give me one chance_. How many times has he been turned away? How many times has he been told he’s not pretty enough, not appealing enough, not good enough? 

Every rejection he’s gotten he’s poured back into his music, into the lyrics he writes and the way he plays, into the way his voice cracks as it rises, sending up a prayer for a dream he knows, perhaps, is nothing but foolishness. Every time before he walked into an audition room, Juza would tell himself, _this will be the last time_. He knew what he was expecting, and yet, time and time again, he found himself there, being disappointed once more.

Until one day, when instead, Tachibana Izumi looked across a table at him in an audition room and smiled at him. 

Even now, standing with the rest of Aki, Juza can’t believe that he’s here, with a set list full of songs he wrote or contributed to in one way or another. All Juza has ever wanted to do was make music. He’s so happy to be making music now, to be putting his feelings and wishes out into the world--even if he’s not the one singing them. 

“Oi, Hyodo.” 

Settsu Banri is everything Juza has never been. A charismatic presence, lead singer material from the start. A cocky grin and a perfectly-timed wink when the stage cameras focus on him. A voice so clear and strong that the first time Juza had heard it, before he’d known anything about the man behind it, he’d filled a page and a half with the melody and lyrics that would become Aki’s first single, _Picturesque_.

“ _Hyodo_ ,” Banri repeats, more insistently, as he holds out the pages of their latest song, _alive_ , “I can’t sing this. This rhythm is impossible.” 

“No, it’s not,” Juza replies, “try harder.”

“It’s impossible,” Banri scowls, “which you would know if you tried to sing it yourself.” 

Juza did. It’s how he came up with it in the first place, tapping on his countertops on a rare day off and flipping through his notebooks of lyrics until he found the one he was looking for, puzzling the two together until it clicked together, and he could sing the line and the ones that came after it down the empty hallway of his apartment.

But he’s not going to sing in front of Banri. Banri has heard Juza sing exactly once, the very first time they’d met, and it had ended in a fistfight. Consciously or unconsciously, he’s never sung in front of Banri ever again. 

“Do you need me to teach it to you?” Juza asks instead. 

“Aah?” Banri’s scowl deepens, and Juza can see him winding up for a fight, and his body reacts in turn.

“ _Enough_.” It’s Sakyo, his voice laced with a threat. The two of them look away, neither meeting Sakyo’s—or each other’s—eyes.

“It’s too complicated,” Banri repeats, “you need to change it.”

“It’s more interesting this way,” Juza pushes back.

“It won’t be interesting if we can’t sing or play it!” Banri yells. Juza scowls, and before he can get a grip on himself, he’s grabbed his guitar, and played it, once, twice, three times. The last note rings out in the ensuing silence, and Juza tenses up, embarrassed now that it’s over. 

“We’re done here,” Sakyo says, “Settsu, Hyodo--” Juza doesn’t stay to listen to Sakyo’s lecture, shooting to his feet and striding out of the practice room as fast as he can. He’ll probably hear from Izumi later about it later, if he’s lucky. If he’s not, it’ll be Sakyo. If he’s really unlucky, it will be Banri.

\--

Like he’s always done whenever he has a bad day, Juza calls home. 

“Niichan!!” It’s Kumon who picks up the line and yells into the phone, his voice rising in a volume exponentially proportional to his realization of who is on the other line. Muffled, Juza can hear the sounds of their mother scolding Kumon for being so loud, the sound of the television being turned down, and other muffled voices around them. 

“Hi, Kumon,” Juza says, “how are you?” It’s all he needs to say, before Kumon is off talking about the baseball team, school, his new friends and interests. It’s comforting to hear Kumon’s steady chatter, his enthusiasm and his energy bubbling up and over like a lifeline over the phone. Whenever Juza has felt like drowning, he’s always been able to look up and swim towards Kumon’s light. 

Muku is there too, and his voice is reassuring in a different way than Kumon’s, soft and simple, without any of the masks or glamour that he sees in his world. Together, Kumon and Muku unwind all the tension that’s been building in Juza throughout the day, and by the time he hangs up, Juza feels like writing again. 

He realizes quickly, though, that when he’d left practice in a rush earlier, he’d left his guitar there, and scowls at the realization. Juza weighs his options of going back, or leaving it until tomorrow--it’s late. There probably won’t be anyone at the studio. 

And that’s how Juza finds himself going back, the inside of the studio just as dark and quiet as it had been outside. The motion sensor lights flicker on as Juza makes his way down the hall, and his guitar is there where he’d left it in the practice room, if moved a little for safety’s sake--probably Omi’s doing, Juza guesses.

He picks up the guitar, plucking at the strings with his calloused fingers, not really playing anything in particular--until he is, picking out old songs that he’d discarded, new Aki songs that he’s practiced with the rest of the band so many times it’s strange to hear them alone now, songs with melodies and lyrics that he’s still waiting for to bloom, and the song from earlier, _alive_ , the thing Banri had called too complicated. 

Juza had been thinking about Banri, when he’d written that song. It was complicated, because Banri was complicated. It was all the frustrations and perplexities of Banri--their leader who could rile Juza up with a few words and a look, yet instinctively understood how to command a stage and give their fans what they wanted. It wasn’t something that could be put simply. It wasn’t something Juza wanted to whittle down to something basic and uncomplicated. That would be like stripping off everything that made Settsu Banri _Banri_ , for all Settsu Banri made Juza want to punch his face. But, Juza couldn’t very well say that.

He sings it, instead. He sings it the way he imagines it should be sang, with richness and fullness, with the way Banri shines in the spotlight and the way he smiles, throwing up peace signs as he laughs out into the theater. He sings and lets it fill the room, the way he wanted to when he was younger before he’d settled for smaller dreams. He closes his eyes, and lets himself wander away, singing the whole time.

Juza has always wanted to make music. But even more than that, he’s always desperately wanted to sing.

\--

He’s startled by the sound of clapping--the sound of one person clapping, and he turns to see Banri, looking almost as surprised as Juza is to see him. 

“So it’s not impossible,” Banri says flatly, stepping into the room. His hands go into his pockets, as if now that he’s done clapping, he doesn’t know what to do with them. Juza doesn’t want to fight with Banri again today. 

“Mm,” Juza says instead, a non-answer either way. Banri ambles over, dragging a chair close to where Juza is sitting, and straddles the chair, leaning his arms against the back. 

“Sing it again,” Banri says.

“Ah?” Juza looks up in surprise--that was the last thing he was expecting Banri to say. 

“Sing it again,” Banri repeats, “come on, Hyodo, don’t make me repeat myself a third time.” Juza glares, but unlike earlier, Banri isn’t drawn into a fight. There’s something in his face that makes Juza pause--excitement, or anticipation, and it’s that expression that makes Juza play the chords once more, and sing it again. 

Banri is perfectly silent as he listens, his eyes narrowed as he watches Juza’s fingering, and as Juza circles back to the chorus, Banri joins in, immediately matching Juza, their voices blending together. Usually, Banri is the only one who sings on stage. Sometimes, Sakyo or Taichi or Azami will join in, but usually, it’s Banri’s voice that carries Aki’s message out to the crowd. They sing through the whole song, neither stopping. And once it’s over, Juza finds that he’s surprisingly reluctant to stop--so he doesn’t, starting again. Banri joins him from the beginning this time, and then, when they finish, suggests one of their other songs. 

They spend the rest of the night going through everything in their repertoire and then some, until the night has ended and Taichi bounds into the practice room, making them realize that in fact, they’ve been here, singing together, all night.

\--

Something changes, after that. 

It’s not big changes--Banri still annoys the shit out of Juza, and they still almost come to blows at least once a week. 

But Banri _listens_ , now, when Juza says something about the music, and Juza, in turn, begins to be able to pick apart Banri’s moods. They never stay up again all night singing together, but sometimes, they’ll linger behind at the end of practice and toss things back and forth for a few hours. Banri has some ideas of his own, and soon, Juza’s notebooks are covered not only in his own handwriting, but Banri’s as well. The band is the best it’s ever been, so when Aki steps onto the stage one night and Banri grabs Juza’s shoulder before he can go on stage, Juza doesn’t flinch when Banri says,

“Hey, Hyodo, I wanna try something new tonight.” 

“Like what?” Juza asks, raising an eyebrow. Banri grins, and winks at him, brushing past to go on stage. 

“Just follow my lead!” he says, and throws his hands up as the crowd screams to herald his arrival. 

The first half of the set goes as they’ve practiced, Banri’s voice ringing loud and bright through the arena. He opens with _Second Shot_ , before going into _Picturesque_ , each song like a bullet firing in unwavering succession. Juza feels alive with the energy in the arena, the vibrations of their music, the way his fingers feel as he presses down on the strings. 

Banri leans forward into the mic, and says, “this next song is something new, so we’re going to try something new. This is our new song, _alive_ , and our very own guitarist, Hyodo Juza, is going to be the one to sing it.” 

Juza startles as the audience cheers, their voices seeming to rise like a wave. He turns to look at Banri, the surprise clear on his face, and Banri just grins back at him, pulling Juza away from his place on stage to his and his microphone.

“Oi, what are you doing?” Juza hisses. 

“Sing it, Hyodo,” Banri says back, “trust me.” Juza glances at the other band members, who look equally surprised at Banri’s declaration--but none of them move to stop him, and Juza looks back at Banri, and then the audience, thousands of expectant faces in the dark. Silently, he steps forward, until he stands in front of the microphone. 

“Uh,” Juza says, eloquent, and then pauses. He takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets it all out, just like Kumon did sometimes when he was overwhelmed, and then leans back in. 

“This is _alive_ ,” Juza says, “please listen to it.” 

He plays the opening chords, slow and steady, and licks his lips as he hears Taichi’s keyboard joining in, Azami’s second guitar, Sakyo’s bass, and finally, Omi’s soft drumming. He lets the music wash over him, and then he leans forward, and he sings. 

Juza has always wanted to sing. 

It’s a dream he gave up, long ago, for the bigger dream of playing music at all. His voice is too rough, too deep, and it catches as he sings the words that are meant for Banri’s smooth tongue. But these are Juza’s words, too, and as he goes into the chorus, he gains volume, pouring himself into the words. 

As he does, he realizes--Banri is singing too, but not the same thing, not like that night when Juza had taught him the song. No, Banri is singing something simpler, a harmony with different words--a plea, when Juza had written this song to be an answer. But it slots in perfectly to the rest of the song, and Juza’s breath hitches, a second too long as it sinks in with him, before he catches back up. Banri looks at him, and smiles--a real smile, not one of his stage smirks or polite press smiles. Juza, of course, can’t help but smile back, and with the lights shining on him, with his voice ringing across a stage just like he’s always wanted, he's never been happier. 

\--

When the song ends, when the show has ended and they’re sitting in the green room, Banri saunters over, his cheeks red with satisfaction.

“We should have you sing more,” Banri says, sitting down next to Juza, who is working his way through what at this point must be an entire cake. Juza shrugs.

“It’s fine,” he says, and pauses, before adding, “when did you have the time to come up with that?” Banri laughs, dipping his finger into Juza’s cake to swipe off some frosting.

“It was just something I was playing around with one night,” Banri replies, dodging Juza’s scowl and swat away from his plate. He gives Juza an appraising, sidelong glance, before he adds, too casually, “but....I wrote it about you.” 

“Me?” Juza repeats. 

“Yeah,” Banri laughs, “don’t let it get to your head. It was just after we’d been working on it, so you were just the first thing on my mind--”

“I wrote _alive_ about you,” Juza interrupts, blunt. 

“Me?” It’s Banri’s turn to repeat, but he’s smiling at Juza--a real smile, again. Juza didn’t know when he’d started to be able to distinguish between Banri’s smiles. 

“You’re like--like the sun,” Juza explains, feeling clumsy saying it out loud, and quotes the song, instead, “ _the way you look at me, that’s how I know I’m alive._ ” 

“ _Don’t you know,_ ” Banri quotes back, _“the way you make me feel_?” 

**Author's Note:**

> i love writing AUs even more than I love reading canon. 
> 
> thanks to lily for inspiration and beta.


End file.
